Obedience School
by Goddess-of-da-Cheeseburgers
Summary: [AU SLASH] Who ever said that owning a dragon was relaxing must have been psycho.
1. The Choosing Part 1

I won't even GO into why this wasn't posted earlier. I just decided that I'll go WITHOUT a beta and just be extra careful with writing this. I'll try and write it how it was supposed to be to the best of my ability, but I'm afraid that school, a day chock full of Zelda games, massive disappointments in people, and finding out that I need knee surgery is taking a toll on my writing...Which is why the most recent installment of RTaR sucked so bad. Well, the omake was nice, but that's it.

I own…not much, surprisingly.

---

**Prologue: The Choosing**

Sometimes, I'm amazed at how contradictory my father can be. One minute, he's shoving me into the barn and demanding that I pick "The right dragon for me." The next minute, he's dragging me out of the barn and practically forcing a particular dragon down my throat. I had stopped listening to him singing the baby dragon's praises about ten minutes ago.

Vaguely, I hear something about "spending time with and bonding with your dragon." If I even _had_ any time to spend, I'd rather be spending it sleeping. Sleeping was a good waste of time, plus it kept me alive and well. Speaking of sleeping, my father's words about the sleeping schedules of dragons penetrates my space-out barrier. Something about short, frequent naps, but that doesn't matter.

I come back to earth just in time for my father to finish what he was saying and to push the baby dragon into my arms expectantly. He's giving me "The Look." It's not the "Boy, Are You EVER In Trouble" Look, more like the "It Would Be In You Very BEST Interests To Do As I Say" Look. I knew that Look well, the one where dad would _say _I had other options, but I really didn't. Not unless I wanted to be crushed by guilt and dragon crap.

Frowning in concentration, I lifted the dragon to eye level, "Beaucephalis," I repeated, the dragon's name being the only thing I remembered, "Ok, how hard could it be?"

My question was answered as I felt a sudden, warm wet spot on my tee-shirt.

---

It had been a week, and I had HAD IT with this dragon. The little monster was wrecking the house, so I had given up on all that "loving and bonding" crap in favor of the one this that could possibly tame the beast.

Rat poison.

However, dad caught me and taken it away. After cursing my miserable fortune for a few moments, I realized that there was one other thing that could help me. There was a new Dragsmart in the Squire's End Shopping District, and they were advertising obedience classes.

So that's how I got where I am now.

I slouched into the new Dragsmart, the pet carrier in my left hand jostling periodically as Beaucephalis rammed against the sides in an effort to escape. Why my father had _insisted _on me choosing the dragon with the attitude problem, I'll never know. Dad had told me that spending time with Beau and bonding with him would settle the fiery dragon down, but my mutilated shoes, chewed-up video game controllers, _marinated _carpet, and missing stash of candy bars begged to differ.

Although that last one could have been Lance's fault.

Still, the point was that Beau was a vicious little thing that would sooner bite my hand off than actually act tame around me. I continued to shuffle to the back of the pet store, towards the obedience training area. I spotted an employee, a tall girl with white hair, after admiring her ass for a few moments, I tapped her on the shoulder.

"S'cuse me, where do I apply for the obedience classes?"

The girl turned (flat as a board, what a shame) and gave me a sharp look...Like a complete and total You-Waste-All-The-Good-Air-Around-Here death glare. She pointed up and to the left towards a sign that read "Obedience Training Registration" in bold red letters. I grinned sheepishly and said, "Oh, heh, sorry. Thanks." before making my way over to the nearby table.

The dark-skinned guy at the table didn't even look up as I placed the thrashing carrier on the table. He turned a page in his magazine and shoved a piece of paper at me, "Your name, dragon's name, address, phone number, e-mail address, and method of payment. Here's a pen." I filled out the required information, sneaking casual glances at the white-haired chick restocking the nearby shelves. I guess the registration guy must have noticed, because he looked up at the girl and smirked, "Hey, Moordryd. Number twenty-three!"

Moordryd? That was a weird name for a girl...

Moordryd turned and glared at the guy, then at me. Registration Guy (whose nametag read "Cain") turned back to his magazine, "Told ya you shouldn't wear those tight pants, man. Now you own me forty dracals!"

I looked from Moordryd, to Cain, to Moordryd's pants, then to the carrier when Beau decided to let out a loud wail of despair. I was surprised to hear a very male voice snarl out, "Dammit Cain! Cut that out!"

---

Prologue: Fin.

So...Yeah. That's all for today. It's a little choppy from where I just cut and pasted from the Sneak Preview chapter from RTaR, but whatever. You all still love me, right?

Ah, I hate to sink to this level, but times are tough and I need the reviews...**No new chapter until I get...Three reviews for this prologue.**

I think it's fair!

**R&R, Please!**


	2. The Choosing Part 2

I've been watching B-movies. Here's one: Mad Scientist and his assistant, the Hunchback, revive Dracula, the Wolf Man, and the Frankenstein monster. "House of Frankenstein," made funnier by mine and my dad's EXCELLENT commentary ("His name is Daniel?" "Yep." "But he looks like Ygor!" "So we shall call him...'Dangor'!") Anyway, B-movies are cool.

I own nothing

---

**Chapter One: The Choosing (Part 2)**

Artha stared blankly at the black-and-white movie and let out a loud belch as the gypsy girl shot her werewolf boyfriend and then collapsed on him. An even louder belch sounded to his right, which started yet another belching battle between teenager and wyrmling.

First it was a race, then wrestling, then which one could bite harder, after the wounds healed from that last fight they moved on to tug-of-war. Conner sighed heavily as he saw his son and his son's dragon start up a belching competition. Those two could make a contest out of anything. Deciding to end the epic battle before someone got sick all over recently-cleaned carpets, Conner called out to his son.

"Artha, don't you have that obedience class in ten minutes?" Despite Artha's best efforts at suppressing it and a loud belch from Beau, Conner still heard a muffled curse from his son. Artha rushed to clean up the popcorn scattered on the couch, tossed his soda cans into the bowl that the popcorn had previously occupied, and dove under a table for his shoes. Conner sighed again a took the bowl to the kitchen, leaving Artha to struggle with the canoes he called sneakers.

"Dad, can you give me a hand with Beau? It'll take me half an hour to get him in the carrier!" Conner deposited the bowl in the sink and tossed the cans in the nearby recycling bin, "Why not just use the leash, Artha?"

A loud. dragonish yelp of surprise split through the air and Artha appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a struggling Beau upside-down, "Because he dislocated my shoulder the last time I used the leash." Conner shot his son a disapproving look before leaving to get the pet carrier. In the brief span of forty seconds that Conner was gone, Beau kicked Artha in the face, knocked him into the recycling bin, scaled the cabinets, opened one, and was curled up next to the box of baking soda.

Though he had probably never seen such an amusing sight, Conner refrained from laughing as he pulled Beau away from the jar of cinnamon that he was clinging to and placed him gently in the pet carrier. He took notice of the fact that the little dragon didn't start wailing until after Artha climbed out of the bin and picked up the carrier. Though the teen seemed immune to the dragon's yowling, his father couldn't help but wince at Beau's evident misery.

Artha trudged out of the house at his normal snail's pace until he was a block away, where he hugged the carrier to his chest and broke out into a run. Beau let out sharp yelps of surprise whenever he was jolted by his owner's rapid pace, despite Artha's poor attempts at bracing the crate. Down three more blocks, past the bookstore, the Dragbucks, and the thrift store where Khatah found that really cool chair.

Artha skidded to a halt in front of the Dragsmart and fixed his hair, using the window as a mirror. Beau whimpered fearfully as Artha strode in calmly, dreading another sprint. Artha casually scrawled his name on the sign-in sheet and walked over an sat down where Cain pointed lazily to. Artha checked his watch, he still had three minutes to spare.

You may wonder about Artha's sudden and unexpected promptness came from. Back at home, Conner certainly did.

You see, after Cain commented on Moordryd's emo pants, Moordryd threw a bag of dragon food at him. When he noticed Artha still ogling him, Moordryd promptly threw a bag of dragon food at him as well. When both teens crawled out from under the food, Moordryd fixed them with a glare fierce enough to freeze them where they sat. Artha mused silently about how it was like being caught in a cobra's stare while Cain knew that staying quiet would ensure his continued existence.

Still using his cobra-glare, Moordryd spoke slowly and calmly, stating to Artha that obedience classes were on Saturdays at two o'clock in the afternoon. Should Artha be late, Moordryd would most likely throw more dragon food at him. He might bury him under pet toys or fish tanks, but it would probably be the food.

Though he usually lacked in the common sense department, Artha knew enough to follow this command. So here he was, 2:06 pm. There were a few people around, Pyrrah with Phorj, Stewardd with Gunny, and Cain with two black dragons sitting calmly next to him. But...Where was Moordryd? Artha caught Cain's smirk too late, and was suddenly crushed by the weight of 25 bags of Dragon Chow.

Moordryd sauntered out from behind the remainder of the pile of food. He stood before Artha with his hands on his hips and muttered darkly "2:00 means 2:00. No later." He stooped down near the pet carrier and opened it, allowing a distressed Beau to bolt out.

As the dragon circled the fenced off area once, Artha remembered that Lance had tried to melt his watch and failed. The watch was slower than normal watches, and it stuck whenever Artha tried to reset it. Beau stopped by his owner a eyed him for a moment. A quick sniff of Artha's hair proved he was still alive, so the dragon bolted off around the enclosure again. Moordryd watched the little dragon zoom around as Artha crawled out from under the food.

A weight was lifted off of Artha's back, "What...Do you feed him?" Moordryd asked quietly, holding a bag of Chow in his hands. Artha blinked and staggered up—

"I dunno, he sort of eats whatever I eat. Popcorn, soda, candy..."

—And was promptly flung back down with the weight that had previously been on his back now on his stomach. As Moordryd stalked away, Artha heard a distinct mutter of "Idiot." The black-haired teen pushed the bag off his chest and rolled off the pile, just in time to catch Beau as he raced by.

Gunny twitched and Stewardd winced slightly as Artha kneeled forcefully next to them. That _had _to make his knees hurt. Oh, and Beau kicked him in every reachable area...That couldn't feel good either. The twitchy fifteen-year-old snapped to attention as Moordryd began to speak.

Meanwhile, Artha was more concerned about the claw that was somehow digging into his stomach. Distracted, he tried to move the baby dragon into a more comfortable position. Unfortunately, the Houdini-wyrmling escaped his grasp and made to escape the fenced off area. He darted across the circle, causing Gunny to have a panic attack and hide in her owner's shirt and making Phorj hiss and attempt to hide in Pyrrah's hair.

Several more alarmed screeches from several more alarmed baby dragons sounded off before all became totally silent. Everyone turned from their skittish dragons to look at where Moordryd had Beau...cuddled in his arms? It was almost a bizarre picture, the normal scowl on the emo kid's face was replaced with a softer look as he petted the wyrmling and muttered soothingly to it. The white-haired teen stood up slowly and walked forward across the circle, still playing dragon-whisperer. He set the now lethargic-looking Beau carefully onto the floor in front of Artha and allowed himself one last stroke of the baby dragon's smooth black and gold scales. He straightened up and fixed Artha with a glare and spoke harshly, "THIS is what I was saying about how a baby dragon may be afraid around other dragons, people, and even ITS OWN OWNER."

Artha wisely stayed focused after that. Moordryd went on to explain that dragons were capable of advanced thought processes, similar to humans, and should be treated as such. He handed the reins over to Cain for some basic name-recognition exercises and walked over to Artha.

Pinned once again by the trainer's glare, Artha could only sit and wait until the pain passed. Moordryd squatted in front of the paralyzed teen (a real feat, due to his tight pants...were those leather?) and reached out to stroke the still-drowsy Beau's head. The clicking of tiny claws alerted Artha to the presence of another small dragon, but he couldn't turn his head away from Moordryd's cold glare.

It took Artha a moment to realize that Moordryd wasn't glaring, and that he was really caught up by how...gentle the emo kid's eyes seemed. The black-haired teen shifted his glance to the delicate black dragon that had followed her owner obediently then back to Beau, who had staggered to his feet and was purring as Moordryd petted him.

"This is some dragon, Penn, where'd you get him?" Moordryd spoke softly and moved to sit cross-legged to allow Beau to stand half-way on his lap. Artha blinked, having never seen the little devil act so tame, and responded just as softly, "My dad...He breeds dragons, so I'm always feeding and cleaning up after them. My dad just shoved him into my arms one day and demanded I take care of him. One ruined Green Day shirt later, I knew it wasn't going to be easy."

The white-haired teen chuckled faintly, "It never is...Decepshun," he turned to the black dragonet, "Keep an eye on this one, he'll be trouble!" As if on cue, Beau snapped out of his trance and began circling the two boys excitedly. He paused to sniff at Decepshun and then twisted around sharply to gnaw at Artha's Drag City High sweatshirt.

Artha was about to jerk his sleeve away and snap out a command to the dragon when Moordryd beat him to the chase. A pale hand reached out quickly and delivered a sharp flick to the nose. His sleeve now freed and slobbered, Artha was about to thank Moordryd when the same punishment was inflicted upon his snout.

"Don't let them have their way. If he tries that again, flick him on the nose and say 'No!'" Moordryd instructed carefully, "Now, watch me and do as I do." He stood and motioned for his dragon to stay. After turning and walking a few steps away, he squatted down facing his dragon, "Decepshun! Here!"

The tiny dragon strode forward in a confident and graceful manner and stopped before her owner for a rewarding pat on the head. He looked expectantly at Artha, and even the little dragon turned her head to shoot him a smug look. Undaunted, Artha stood and whistled sharply and called for his dragon.

Surprisingly to Moordryd, the wyrmling charged forward and skidded to a halt in front of Artha. After patting the dragon gently, he looked up, "All of the dragons from my dad's stable are trained by example to come when me, my dad, or my brother call them. This one," he pointed to Beau, "has a problem with chewing everything in sight, waking me up in the middle of the night, and going out in public."

Having recovered from his shock, Moordryd smirked, "Makes sense. He just needs to get used to other people and dragons. As for the other two...Give him a blanket or stuffed animal to chew on, he's obviously teething." Beau trotted forward to sniff cautiously at Decepshun, "...And put a small clock under his pillow, or even let him sleep in your bed. The reason he wakes up is because he misses his mother's heartbeat. A clock or your own heartbeat should make him feel a little more secure."

Moordryd spared a quick glance to his side, where Beau and Decepshun had gotten into a small play fight. Artha glanced over as well, just in time to see the black dragon pin the gold one and growl softly at him. He sighed faintly and plucked his dragon up from the floor when Decepshun left him to sit contentedly near her master's feet.

It must have been Moordryd's magical petting-hypnotism trick earlier that had calmed Beau down enough to allow his owner to pick him up without a fight. Moordryd smiled inwardly at this and spoke, "So, your dad must be Conner Penn."

Artha nodded and sat down in front of where Moordryd was squatted, "Yep. Been around dragons my whole life, and as a result, I can't stand them." Moordryd's content expression quickly turned to a frown, "Why's that?" he sat down as well and let Decepshun sit in his lap.

Artha looked at him as if it were the most obvious question in the world and recited a well practiced speech, "'Conner Pen is a world-renown dragon breeder. He raises every dragon with love and devotion, and encourages their future owners to treat them the same.' That's what the commercials say. Unfortunately, my little brother and I take backseat to the dragons."

Moordryd nodded, "I take backseat to my father's business, if it's any consolation." He gestured grandly at the ceiling, "But I still work at one of his chains for normal pay and few worker benefits."

"You mean you're dad came up with the Dragsmart chain?" Beau began to doze off on Artha's warm thigh. Moordryd nodded, "Word Paynn, CEO of Dragsmart." He shot a quick glance to the clock on the wall and stood up, cradling Decepshun in one arm, and muttered quietly to Artha, "Time flies..."

Looking up at Moordryd Paynn from the floor as he loudly declared "Class dismissed, now get the hell out of here." Artha realized how very, very _tall_ the guy was. He also realized that the hand that wasn't holding a dragonet against his chest was extended to him. Artha grinned and caught the pale hand and pulled himself up with a little help from the hand's owner.

Bidding a cheerful goodbye, Artha strode out happily with Beau tucked against his chest.

It was only later that night when he and Cain were cleaning up did Moordryd realize that Artha had left the pet carrier behind.

---

TBC

Foo, it took long enough, didn't it? I started typing this in...October, methinks. I got sidetracked on the road of life, got into Gaia, and then...Well, I didn't get anything done over winter break. In my defense, I was sick and Jessica Simpson is the devil.

...What? She endorses Proactive and that crap gave me a nasty, itchy, bumpy, rotting-tomato-red rash on my face!

In other news, It's almost 2 AM and my winter break ended hours ago. I'm going to be a REAL delight come tomorrow morning. Plus, I have a huuuuuuge packet on Protestants and Catholics and stuff due for my least favorite AP world history class due tomorrow...I couldn't focus on that (I barely read it), so I finished this.

BTW, the movie that Artha and Beau are watching at the beginning is the same movie I mentioned at the opening AN: "House of Frankenstein." It's a real kick to watch.


	3. Sleep Well

I have good reasons for this long break. Well...ONE good reason, I'm holding out for someone to write their own M/A fics.

As for Dragon Booster or anything else in this fic that might get me sued, I don't own it.

---

**Chapter 3: Sleep Well**

Having been out on a visit to another kennel, Conner didn't come home until late that night. He peeked into his younger son's room first, finding the boy pretending to be asleep. The tell-tale glow of a video game near Lance's feet indicated otherwise, but Conner let it slide.

He paused outside Artha's door and reviewed the various threats his older son had made for entering his room, listing the consequences very clearly to Lance and then shooting a rebellious look to Conner. The Penn patriarch brushed the look away in his mind and opened his son's door anyway, expecting to see Artha hunched over his laptop or a video game controller. He was half right.

The video game on the tv displayed a strange car doing a victory lap and the laptop cast an eerie glow over Artha's limp hand, but the boy was comatose with both legs and one arm dangling off the futon and the other draped over the dragonet that was snoring contentedly on his bare chest.

A soft smile spread across Conner's face as he lifted his son's cold legs back on to the bed and tugged the blanket bunched up at Artha's waist over the rest of his body. It was really a heart-warming sight, considering that the two were trying to out-belch each other only ten hours ago. Conner really had to wonder what they taught at that obedience class.

---

Moordryd rolled over onto his side and glanced at the small clock on the coffee maker in the kitchenette. He rolled back and wrapped a pale arm securely around Decepshun and muttered quietly, "12:48 AM...You awake?" A tiny shift and a light snore answered him, "Didn't think so." Moordryd stood up and wrapped his dragon snuggly in a blanket and an old sweatshirt before walking around the Dragsmart employee break room to turn on the television. He sat gently on the edge of the hide-a-bed as not to disturb his bedmate and patiently watched an over-caffeinated bearded man sing the praises of a cleaning product on mute.

There was another shift, and a sweatshirt was dropped near Moordryd's leg. Decepshun growled softly at him and laid down against Moordryd's thigh after her master smiled and pulled the Dragsmart sweatshirt over his bare chest.

"Guess there's no fooling you, huh?" He rubbed the dragon's head before settling into rhythmic strokes along her long neck, "Why are we even staying in the break room?" Moordryd answered his own question without a moments hesitation, "Because we are too devoted to our job, and my father scares us." Decepshun lifted her head to stare dolefully into Moordryd's eyes.

Sporadic flashes from the television (really, how many seizures do carpet-cleaner infomercials CAUSE!?) cast odd, flickering lights over both figures, "We really should get to sleep, girl..." The wyrmling snorted as if to say "What do you think I was TRYING to do?" and laid her head against Moordryd's thigh again.

Still, the black dragonet could see the dark circles under her owner's eyes, caused by many sleepless nights. Humans were silly, letting something like rejection keep them from getting some well deserved rest. When a dragon was rejected by a potential mate, they only sulked for a few hours at most, Moordryd had been losing sleep and weight for almost a month!

In a quick maneuver, Decepshun jumped up and tugged at the back of Moordryd's sweatshirt until he fell backwards. Well used to this by now, the teen kicked out quickly and shut the tv off with his toe. He inched the short distance back to the flat pillow on his elbows and the wyrmling crawled up onto his chest, her eyes glowing in the dim light provided by the lamppost outside the shaded window.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it…You're the only love of my life." He rubbed gently at her head and she butted his hand softly, a silent prompt to go to sleep.

---

Lance yawned and staggered into the kitchen, intent on finding a doughnut in hopes that the sugary breakfast treat would wake him up. Despite the influence of the powdered delicacy, Lance still couldn't seem to wake up. He sat at the kitchen table and swung his short legs back and forth with his arms pillowing his head and was almost tempted to go back to sleep when a loud declaration of pain reached his ears.

---

Artha scowled at his younger brother, who was currently making no effort to stifle his laughter. Conner slapped the last bandage on his older son's chest and allowed him to tug his shirt back on. Artha stood up and slinked off to his room again to sulk some more.

As per Moordryd's instructions, Artha allowed Beau to sleep in his bed that night. However, in retrospect, it might have been wiser to give the dragonet a clock instead. At the very least, Artha realized that he should have worn a shirt to bed.

A baby dragon with sharp claws and nightmares of running is a dangerous thing indeed. Artha slouched a little more and winced as the scratches on his chest were irritated. In the corner, a guilty Beau attempted to become one with the wall. Unable to do so, he settled on a pathetic whine and a "Please forgive me!" look in Artha's direction.

Let it not be said that Artha was entirely without compassion. He gave a weak whistle and beckoned for the wyrmling, who obediently, albeit a bit hesitantly, shuffled forward. When Beau was in range, Artha scooped him up and petted him gently.

"It's ok…" He assured the little one softly, "It's just a few scratches. You had a bad dream…"

Taking reassurance from his owner's actions, Beau snuggled boldly into Artha's chest. This simple act of affection earned him a wince, a quiet hiss of pain, and then a few more gentle strokes.

---

Make-up, Moordryd had decided, was not intended for men. The pale-as-milk cover-up he had been using for the past few weeks to hide the dark circles under his eyes had finally failed him. He supposed he had it coming, staying up so late had made the skin beneath his eyes look almost black. The poorly concealed dark bruises were unattractive, but better than nothing.

The nearly empty glass bottle was hurriedly jammed into a bag with similar cosmetics when Moordryd heard a sharp knock on the door. Cain's loud voice penetrated the door, demanding to know who was taking so damn long. Moordryd stashed his make-up bag behind a bottle of bleach beneath the counter. He flushed the empty toilet, then ran the water for a moment before fixing his best pissed off glare in place and storming out of the restroom. Noting who it was, Cain muttered a hurried apology before slipping into the bathroom.

---

End chapter 3

Man, insomnia's a bitch. I was dealing with it all through middle school. Not fun.

So...This ended kinda abruptly, but it's where I wanted it to end. If you're wondering who Moordryd was rejected by...Well...Future plot device. It's quite fun to plan out.

**Say, a question for those that read Race Tracks and Romances: Who among you has played Final Fantasy VIII, and who among you would be willing to read a three-shot crossover with FFVIII and Dragon Booster? Answer honestly, please, because the first part of that has been sitting in my writing folder for over half a year now.**

Review, please.


End file.
